After Everything
by angellwings
Summary: "Do you still believe in fate?" He asks. His eyes hold no trace of knowing her answer. He knows what her answer was then, but genuinely doesn't know where she stands now. Not with all that they've been through in the past few months. [post S2, one shot] (TFP)


**A/N:** IT'S TFP TIME AGAIN. YAY. So here is my entry for June and AGAIN shot out to my Angst Brigade fam for helping me this when I got myself a little stuck! I love all of you, ladies! You're the best!

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

After Everything

By angellwings

* * *

" _These are the days after. Everything now is measured by after." - Don DeLillo_

* * *

She's rereading _Emma,_ for maybe the hundredth time since her mother first dropped the brick of a book in her lap at the age of fourteen, when another very different book is dropped into her lap. Black, leather bound, with a glaring LP stamped on the cover. She reels back as if she's been punched and nearly topples the chair she's occupying as the chair catches on the dirty concrete floor.

She sees Wyatt reach for her on instinct, but there's no need. She grabs the table just in time to catch herself.

She looks up slowly, to find her future self smirking at her.

"Where did you get this?" Lucy asks herself in surprise.

It's not a new copy. It's beaten and worn and the pages have been worried at the corners. No doubt by Garcia Flynn as he obsessed over every word.

"We had to test the tech and I needed it for reference. I swiped it after…well after the last time you remember having it in your possession," the older her admits with a small wan smile.

They both know what she's referring to. The night Carol Preston revealed herself and Rittenhouse took her from her team. It had been in her purse. The purse she left behind in the struggle to escape the disgusting weight of her legacy. Her hand unconsciously travels to the base of her skull, the spot where she'd been knocked unconscious with the butt of a gun by some faceless Rittenhouse goon. Future Lucy's hand does the same. Both Wyatts notice and Lucy wonders how much her older self has told her Wyatt about those six weeks. Does he know the things the present Wyatt doesn't?

Lucy's eyes return to the journal and she swallows nervously. "What am I supposed to do with it?" She asks.

"Read it, burn it, hide it," her older self says with a shrug. "I really don't give a damn."

"Read it?" Lucy asks her worriedly. "Surely you don't want me to- Isn't that a bit like reading the last page of a novel?"

"Like you've never done that before," she replies with a knowing grin. "Even if you read it, you'll make your own choices. Just because it's written in that journal doesn't mean it's a fixed point. You know better than anyone by now that time is constantly in flux. It's hardly as linear as the normals think it is." She pulls her short hair back into a small pony tail and looks away. "The four of us are proof of that. Besides, what you always assumed to be true has already been proven wrong, hasn't it?"

Damn this version of her for knowing her every thought. For having thought them herself at one point.

"We thought," she says as she finishes pulling back her hair and turns to the younger Wyatt. "To get to a place where this journal exists, where we work with Flynn, it meant nothing would be left. We would need an extreme dystopian environment for us to be so desperate to fix time that we risk chaotic timeline changes - that we would give up control. We thought such a bold move meant-" she pauses and gives Lucy an expectant look. She wants her to finish the thought.

Lucy sighs and rolls her eyes at her older self. She never wanted to reveal this thought to begin with, but another version of her has eliminated that choice for her.

"We thought it meant certain death."

Her battle hardened reflection nods and smirks at her bearded version of Wyatt. "So, it turns out we're not actually gonna die after all."

Through his beard she sees a dry grin and hears a deep chuckle. "Dammit."

"Which means," she says as she turns her eyes back to the journal. "We don't have to be afraid of reading it any more."

Lucy shakes her head and gives her a look that she hopes illustrates how insane she thinks that theory is because the journal is still dangerous. Even knowing it's less than accurate given all the time travel and timeline changes that have happened since, Lucy can't imagine wanting to know too much about the contents of those pages. Once she knows the pressure is on and the countdown begins to when she has to make those choices. Or when she has to decide whether or not to make _the same_ choice as an alternate Lucy. She doesn't want to know what's in those pages just like she doesn't want to know too much about the relationship between the future Lucy and Wyatt who are currently smirking at her with nearly identical knowing glances.

They do that a lot. That emotional synchronization. It's something she knows she and her Wyatt are guilty of too on occasion, but nowhere near as often. At least not lately.

She sets the journal aside after they walk away, staring at it warily as if it might bite. She's unable to focus on _Emma_ for the rest of the day. She curses the other Lucy for literally dropping this conflict in her lap. It's the last thing she needs while her older self prepares to go back to her time. She decides to put it away until after they're gone, until they go home to their Rufus.

But then she wonders what happened to the Lucy who wrote the journal at this exact same time in her life. Did everything she went through happen to her too? Was any of it different? Easier? Was it different events but just as much heartbreak? Or did she have it better than her? Did giving Flynn the journal make things worse or better?

Before she knows it two days have passed and she's only gotten one page further in _Emma_. She spends most attempts to read staring blankly at Jane Austen's words. Seeing but not reading. She's sitting on the common room couch, lengthwise, with the novel propped up on her bent knees and she's so caught up in her thoughts that she never hears him approach. She doesn't feel the slight shift in the couch when he sits next to her sock clad feet as they rest on the couch cushion.

But he clears his throat and she hears _that_ louder than any gunshot. Her golden eyes meet his blue ones in an automatic response to the familiar way his presence always pulls at her heart. His face is stubbled, his eyes sunken and tired, and his shoulders are still stiff with guilt. All of these things are signs indicating the broken road they've somehow stumbled onto. The pavement under their feet is cracked and broken in ridges and valleys as if torn apart by an earthquake. Sure, the earthquake is over but the aftershocks aren't.

The many ways they each know they've been broken by one thing or another makes the ridges and valleys between them seem taller and wider than they want them to be. It's a distance they want to bridge but neither seems to know how to begin. His confession after they lost Rufus was a start but they'd been stalled ever since. The appropriate next move was unknown to them both.

His eyes dare to stay connected to hers as he scratches his chin. It's a habit she knows he's picked up from watching his older self so closely. She's convinced he feels a phantom beard where his stubble is and the thought offers her a small amount of amusement while he tries to find the words he intends to say.

"Your bookmark hasn't moved in two days," he says finally with a small smirk. "Is your book that boring, professor?"

 _Professor_. It's the first time he's used anything other than her name in so long. The last time had been during an awkward and heartbreaking conversation outside of the bunker restroom. It will be a long time before she can hear the term 'babydoll' again without a crack forming in her battered heart. But 'Professor' is safe. He picked that up long before anything happened between them. It's a reminder that they can be friends again. If nothing else, they can be friends.

Is that what she wants? To be his friend? It's what's safest, yes. She knows that. But is it what she wants? Does it matter what she wants? Has what she wants ever mattered? It's a train of thought she shoves aside in order to address his question. She doesn't have time to question what she wants right now. It's a can of worms that needs to be saved for a solitary moment and, as evidenced by the soldier studying her intently, this is not a solitary moment.

"Jane Austen is never boring," she answers as a smile tugs at her lips. "It's not her fault. I'm just... _preoccupied_."

Wyatt quirks a brow with a knowing grin and nods slowly. "The journal."

He doesn't ask. It's a statement, a foregone conclusion. She kind of hates that he sees through her so easily. Even when they're broken, they're still connected. There's a moment of silence before he speaks again and when he speaks he looks almost nostalgic.

"Do you remember that night at the bar after 1754?" He asks her.

It was the first time they openly talked about the journal without it turning into a fight. Of course she remembers it. After days of his resentful eyes glaring at her with hurt and confusion, being able to tell him _why_ she hid it from him felt like a weight off of her heart. His response, though, had comforted her more than she ever thought possible. She had been well on her way to being in love with him at that point and his words had been burned into her memory, locked away in her heart, as if they might hold a key to a future she knew he wasn't ready to consider. To a future that he might _choose_ someday, a future with her.

But she can't say this. She can't admit any of that to him. Not with the gulf they can't bridge and the guilt he can't seem to lose. Not with his confession still hanging in the recycled air of the bunker. She can't say any of what's in her head, so she doesn't.

She just nods.

"Do you still believe in fate?" He asks. His eyes hold no trace of knowing her answer. He knows what her answer was then, but genuinely doesn't know where she stands now. Not with all that they've been through in the past few months. "Do you still believe in a higher power?"

Higher than the two of them? Or Rittenhouse? Higher than the people who regularly screw with time and who have made more changes to history than she can count at this point? Does she? In the past few months she had moments where she took history into her own hands, moments where she didn't trust that higher power to work things out on it's own. Did that mean she let that belief go? And if she no longer believed in a higher power, could she still believe in fate?

She honestly doesn't know the answer and the knowledge that she's drifted so far from who she used to be brings stinging wetness to her eyes and forces her to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Since first seeing her future self she had been terrified of becoming her but…

Oh god, what if she already is her?

That Lucy knows how to throw a damn good punch and get a solid shot on a distant target and she doesn't, sure. Her body isn't ready for battle now. She's well aware of that.

But the rest of her is. The rest of her is ready to abandon faith and fate completely.

Because how can she have faith in a fate that hurts the people she loves so much? How can she believe in fate and then choose to steal Rufus from his? _She can't_.

She's been silent for a long time and realization dawns in Wyatt's eyes. She knows he reads her answer from the quiet. The guilt in his posture magnifies as if he thinks the change in her was caused by his actions. But it wasn't him. Honest to God, if there is one, he is not responsible for her current lack of belief.

"I don't think I can believe in fate, Wyatt," she finally says as she looks away from him and closes her book. "We've intervened too much in the past for me to think-" she cuts herself off in frustration because what she starts to say is not really what she wants to say. So she tries again. "Dammit, if fate or a higher power exists, why would it take everything away from us? Why would it choose to cut us so deeply when _we're_ the ones trying to keep history in tact?" She watches him consider that for a moment as she forcefully blinks her tears away and then follows up her answer with a question of her own. "Have you changed _your_ mind?"

He chuckles dryly and reaches over to grab the book from where it rests on her knees. He studies the spine and refuses to look at her as he answers. "It seems we find ourselves on opposite sides of the debate. _Again_."

Her breath catches in her throat. His answer surprises her because he's been through just as much as her and she doesn't understand how he can see sense in any of their losses. Wyatt always wants to do the right thing. She trusts him to make good and honorable decisions. Why would any power that be put him in a position where the decision to do the right thing is what breaks him? It's cruel and unusual. She can't imagine a higher power designing that for him. She doesn't _want_ to imagine a higher power designing that for him.

"How?" She asks in shock. "How can you believe that after everything?"

"After everything," he repeats thoughtfully. His posture changes and a small smile graces his lips as he meets her eyes with confident warmth and affection. "Because _after everything_ ," he says slowly, as if he's contemplating the words as he is speaking them. "After everything you're still here."

Her brow furrows and she shakes her head at him. She doesn't really understand what he means. He seems so sure of himself now and some part of her heart is proud of him. She's not sure why. But it's there.

He catches her confused expression and sets her book on the coffee table across from them so that he can turn to face her and hesitantly take her hands in his. She doesn't protest or draw back and the relief in his expression is painful for her. She knows she's gun shy and she's not gotten past that yet, but the evidence of how her hesitance has affected him creates an ache in her that wasn't there before. It's new and sits low in her stomach. She thinks it might be settling in to stay for a while.

"What I mean to say is that...after the shit storm of the past few months, _I'm_ still here _with you_. Looking back it feels like," he pauses and takes a deep breath, soothing his obvious nerves, and looks down at their joined hands. "It feels like this is how it was always going to end, how it was meant to be. You and me, at the end of our separate roads, _together_. As truly _fucked up_ as everything with Jessica was, I learned some hard lessons about the man I want to be and the life I want to live and the _people_ I want to live that life with. It taught me who I can and can't live without. Was it a cruel lesson? Could there have been other ways I might have come to the same conclusion? I don't know. I'm honestly not sure because I'm one hell of a stubborn asshole," He says with a self deprecating chuckle.

His grip tightens on her hands like his grabbing on to a lifeline, like he won't be able to keep talking if she lets go. She shifts her position and tucks her legs underneath her so she can move slightly closer, never once letting go of his hands. She wants him to continue as much as he's desperate to. He's putting emotions into words and she knows that's not an easy task for either of them. She did him a disservice for too long by trying to force him to be happy with Jessica. She sees that now for what it was.

Her own fears and insecurities convinced her that he didn't feel for her what she felt for him. She had convinced herself that she was second to Jessica and always would be. The risk that he might not choose her was terrifying and she chose to be oblivious to the doubts he tried to express. In protecting her heart, she had taken away his ability to choose for himself.

He unconsciously responds to her shift in distance by scooting even closer to her and his eyes meet hers with a fond smile and a reminiscent glance as he speaks, "And I can't tell you how many times my Grandpa Sherwin had to knock some sense into me back in the day. So maybe this was Grandpa Sherwin, hitting me over the back of the head and knocking the sense into me one more time. Maybe this was the universe knowing that I'm a reckless hot headed idiot and I needed to learn to be more careful and considerate. Maybe whoever is in charge thought I needed a reminder of just _how much_ I have to lose. I don't know if any other method would have worked, Lucy, but I do know that _this one_ did. I know who I am and what I want and I will do what I have to in order to fix what I ruined. No more broken promises, no more reading between the lines, no more hiding what I feel and who I feel it for. I'm _done_ making the same mistakes over and over again. I'm done thinking that choosing what's right _isn't the same_ as choosing what I want. What I want are the things and people that are good for me, that make me stronger and better and if that's the case then how can those things and people _not_ be right?"

When he's done his eyes roam over her face. He's searching for something but she has no idea what it is. She has no idea what to feel or think. He said too much. She can't process it all right away. She's honestly not sure how their discussion of fate vs free will led to the outpouring of emotions that's currently reverberating through her brain. She has no idea what to say and can't find her words but she is not planning on leaving or walking away. Wyatt Logan revealing so much of his heart is a grand gesture if she's ever seen one and she wants to respond. She does not want this to be another moment like the last one they had sitting on the floor together mourning Rufus. She wants to reciprocate. She just has no idea what to say.

So she adjusts their hands and threads their fingers together, sits back on the couch next to him and rests her head on his shoulder. She has no words at the current moment but she wants to try and find them. She needs to think but she doesn't want him to leave. She cannot let him walk away empty handed. She hears a sigh of relief as her head lands on his shoulder and she knows he understands what she needs without her having to say it. He knows he's unloaded a lot and he knows she was not at all prepared for it. He seems content to sit there with her while she digests his words and his meanings and she's immensely grateful for that, for _him_.

Is he saying that he believes _she_ is his fate? That being with her was always meant to happen? She feels her heart break and goosebumps rise over her arms all at once. But that means he thinks he was always meant to lose Jessica. That his first love was never meant to be his last. Wyatt fought for Jessica from their very first mission and the idea that he now believes that one way or another he would be seperated from her in any timeline breaks her heart for him. But that sadness is immediately followed by a thrill. A terrifying thrill.

She knows Wyatt loves her. He's told her that before. It's a moment she'll never forget even given the sadness and grief they were both feeling at the time. But he loved, or loves she's isn't sure, Jessica too and she's always been an insecure person. She's always questioned her value in the world. She believes Wyatt loves her but a part of her is wondering if he loves her as he does Jessica. Did he admit it to her because Jessica left him behind and betrayed them all? It is a question she knows she will never be brave enough to ask and it defines so much of her non existent response to his confession. Is she the consolation prize? Or is she overthinking it?

So, while Wyatt was saying a lot of beautiful things in this confession, it was what he wasn't saying that is currently making her a bit breathless. A great deal of his words were things she dreamed of hearing him say for so long. But none of them hit her like the unstated implication _behind_ his words.

If he believes his fate is to always find Lucy Preston - if he believes their shared fate is to be together _after everything_ \- then he has to believe that his love for her is stronger, more unbreakable, than his love for Jessica. He has to believe that she is the _love of his life_.

She's never been that to anyone. Not once. It's a scary title. Its one she has never really longed to wear before. It is a title she's never given out to anyone either. Not until _him_. Because that's what he is, whether they ever get their timing right or not. He's the love of her life. She's known it since Bonnie and Clyde, maybe even before then. Maybe even when she held his face in a white knuckle grip at the Alamo and begged him to not to leave her. It's hard to nail down exactly when she knew. But he's had that title for a long time, for longer than he knows.

And while she hasn't been able admit it out loud, she knows it's a title he still has. He has all of her love and there's no way she can ever give it to anyone else. It is irrevocably his.

But she's scared. She's scared of him and of all the ways the enemy wants to screw with them. She's scared of losing him like she lost Rufus, but for longer than a moment and in a way that she won't be able to fix. She's scared of him vanishing from her life like her sister. She's _terrified_ of learning to live without him like she's been trying to do for the last several weeks and even more afraid of not being able to. The idea of being so attached to someone that your entire world lives and breathes with them is gut wrenching. It will leave her more vulnerable than she has ever been. More vulnerable than she ever wants to be.

Does she risk it? Can she risk it?

She has no idea how long they have been sitting in silence but after thinking on her fears and the possible actions she can take in response to Wyatt's words a voice from the past sounds in her head and just like that…

She has her answer.

"Who the hell ever said easy and right were the same thing?" She says with a tiny smirk. She has no idea if Wyatt will remember the words or the man who said them but it sheds light on their situation in a way no words have before.

He chuckles and she briefly feels his lips brush against the top of her head before he replies. "Bass Reeves?"

She nods against his shoulder and then raises her head so she can meet his eyes. "I took the easy way out, Wyatt. It may not have seemed like it at the time and it may have hurt like hell, but it hurt a lot less than fighting for you. I was...I was afraid that you didn't feel for me what I felt for you and I just didn't want to know. I thought I would let you go before you let go of me. I shoved down what I wanted and what I felt because I was scared that fighting for you would ruin us, would ruin _me_. I couldn't risk ruination because I wanted you to be happy. I didn't think you really could be happy with me and I was too scared to find out for sure. So...I never let you talk. I never stopped to listen. I was afraid of what I would hear. Because assuming I knew was easier than finding out the truth."

She says the words in a rush, impossibly fast, but she knows he heard all of it. His eyes bore into hers and she sees hope and regret all at once.

"I should have listened to Rufus," Wyatt replies with a sigh. "I should have told you in 1918. The minute my hand landed on your shoulder and you spun around…" he trails off and she sees a soft grin form on his face. "I should have let the feeling overflow right then because I knew then. _I knew_. You turned around and it was like the world started spinning again, Lucy. The entire universe froze around me for six weeks and it didn't start moving again until _that_ moment. I should have told you then and then maybe...maybe you would have never doubted. Maybe we wouldn't have fallen apart."

She isn't sure why it never occurred to her before. He told her Rufus wanted him to tell her but she never thought about _when_. 1918. He loved her in 1918? She doesn't know what to say but that's okay. It turns out Wyatt isn't finished.

"I actually think I've loved you for a long time," he says in a voice so low she almost misses it. His voice cracks and rumbles as he continues, his eyes downcast. "It took losing you for six weeks for me to see it and I'm still not sure when it happened exactly. I was well on my way by the time we met Bonnie and Clyde, though, I _am_ sure of that much."

 _Bonnie and Clyde._ He was well on his way? No, he couldn't have been. Not for that long. Could he? But then she thinks back and she sees a million small moments. They are things she chalked up to trust and friendship and near death experiences but when she considers them again things become clear. She shifts her focus and she suddenly sees it. _Sees him._

The look on his face as he left her in the past with Flynn and the words "I cannot lose you again." The way he held onto her after he escaped that black site. The emotion in his voice as he thanked her before he ran off to steal the Lifeboat. His hand on the back of her neck, pulling had as close as he could, when she found them at the World's Fair. The fact that play acting with her in 1934 had come naturally to him, to both of them. _The Alamo._ The way he straightened her tie while Ian Fleming waited for them in the next room. Helping her with her seatbelt, while trying not to show he was bothered by Noah. Offering her comfort after Lincoln. Gawking at her bare back while she tossed him her modern bra in a jail cell in Jersey. She smirks as the last moment falls into place and slides her gaze slowly over to his. He's right. She knows he's right.

The moment he opened one eye in that waiting room at Mason Industries was the moment they began to _feel_ for each other. Those feelings developed and burned under the surface of their skin for so long that it was impossible to pinpoint exactly when it morphed from attraction to love but, despite everything, she knows he's right. She _knows_ that by the time 1934 happens the inevitably of _them_ was already hitting high speeds, too fast to stop.

The broken road and the earthquake that caused it brought them to a screeching halt. But they survived it. They are still standing. Still side by side. Still together. The odds of that are astronomical. They should hate each other. They should want to be as far away from this moment and the awful bunker couch as they can get.

But they don't want that. They _can't_ want that. Because _after everything_ , through all the wreckage, they still want each other.

She bites back a gasp as that thought appears in front of her. She still wants him. She still loves him. It still feels right. _Even if it hurts, it feels right_. She thinks back to Wyatt's words about fate and the lessons he's learned and the acknowledgment that he wants the people around who make him better. She wants that too. Aren't they both at their best when they're together? Didn't this entire disaster prove that? They put distance between them, by sheer will, and as a result the world shook and burned and broke.

The earthquake was of their own making.

Where she once had doubts suddenly she has none. She's still hurt and he's still guilt weary, but her doubt in him - _in them -_ is gone. If they stand together they can brace themselves against the aftershocks. They can lean on each other and make it through. Their fatal mistake was trying to keep their distance.

It is a mistake she will never let them make again. _Never again._

She makes that promise to herself and knows it starts with three little words. Three words that have been lodged in her throat for too long. Three words she should have told him long ago. She squeezes his hand three times to get his attention. It's a hint to prepare him for her words and she wonders if he'll understand it.

His eyes lift from their joined hands and his pools of regret scour her face for an understanding of what she needs. He's ready to provide her with whatever that might be. She can see all of that written in every bit of his expression.

What she needs, more than anything, _is him._

"I love you, Wyatt."

His eyes widen in surprise and then soften and a grin splits across his face. The guilt doesn't melt away but it lightens. _He lightens_. His eyes quickly become wet and glassy but, unlike last time, it isn't from grief. It's from something she doubted she would see from him ever again. It's from something that causes relief and warmth to flood her chest.

 _Happiness._

 _Joy._

 _Hope._

Quite possibly all three at once.

It's been too long since she's felt any of it or seen it reflected back at her in eyes so tender and earnest and blue that the minute she sees his eyes brighten her tears fall.

It's not a fix it. Those words can't put a bandage on everything. But it's feels so damn good. It feels like they've earned those three little words a million times over. She knows they'll never deny them again. Not to their friends, not to their enemies, and _never_ to each other.

This love is theirs and it's still standing…

 ** _After everything._**


End file.
